


Interdepartmental Assistance

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Category: Spooks
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Female Character of Color, POV Character of Color, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amanda Roke didn't think she'd see Tom Quinn again, but she knows what she wants from him. Semi-tag to 2x04. Written for the "rough sex" prompt for kink_bingo 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interdepartmental Assistance

Amanda doesn't expect to see MI-5 agent Tom Quinn again. He's done his duty and gone back to be leashed in Thames House's kennel, and she has more important things to think about.

But she runs into him at the pub that evening, literally jarring elbows, and there's that flash again--and his lifted eyebrows, pale skin, bright blue eyes carrying almost no meaning--and she inclines her head and asks, "Well?"

She may not be a spy, but she can get a man back to her flat when she wants him. And she _wants_ him, and not without a fight.

He sheds his coat and she pushes him back against the door before he's got it all the way off, and he tastes not enough like blood when she kisses him, so she bites. He gasps into her mouth, and she feels the muscles in his chest shift under his shirt a moment before he has his arms free and he's pinning her in an embrace that's more like a wrestler's hold, pulled close and taut and unable to do more than struggle as he nips along her jaw and down her throat, yes, excellent, not without a fight indeed.

The fabric under her fingers is fine cotton, and it only gives a little as she claws for purchase. Finally she finds folds, seams, and has enough leverage to pull until one button snaps off and two others give, and then she can scratch along the pale, ivory skin above his undershirt until he bleeds. Tom hisses in pain and satisfaction and bites hard at the base of her neck, and she gasps as the answering urge from her clit pulses through her. She grinds against him hungrily, feels his erection pressing through his trousers and rolls her hips against the firm length to Tom's answering groan.

He lets go her arms and she finishes the job on his shirt, only to be carried bodily to the floor. She's glad of the rug, gladder of the firm weight of the man on top of her, gladdest when she elbows him in the side and uses his wince to roll on top of him. It's hard to fight with his belt and trousers while keeping him from throwing her off, but she manages to get his cock out without losing her position.

"They keep you clean over there at Five?" she asks as he sits up far enough to start on her trousers.

He looks up midway through unbuttoning her fly. "You trust my answer?"

"You trust my offer?" she says, and strips her shirt off.

"Should I?" he asks, grinning, then flips her over again, the rug burning her back and his mouth and teeth seeking her left nipple. She groans and tugs at his hair, fine strands almost downy in her hand, until he moans and leaves off to tug her pants down her legs.

He doesn't bother prepping her with fingers--they both want this rough, and he pauses only long enough to pull her hips upward before his cock is forcing her open, and fuck it feels good to feel skin like this, demanding and almost painful before her own lubrication eases the way a bit. He rocks into her in stages, blunt thick pressure sinking into her a few inches at a time, until he's settled inside her, and then he leans forward and says "All right, then."

And then he starts thrusting, hard, and grazing her cervix often enough that she feels it like a punch, and she laughs in delight and desire and grabs his ruined shirt to pull him harder. He gasps and now he can't fight back when she runs a hand under his shirt and rakes her fingernails across him again, scratching at his back until he bites answers along her neck, feeling the flex of his back and his muscles carrying this same goddamn need this same goddamn desire to just let go, for once, let the fucking duty and country and government and politics _go_\--

She comes once with her hands clamped tight on his arse urging him closer, again after he pushes her ankles up over his shoulders, a third time when he screams "God damn it!" into her neck and shudders out his own peace with the world. She's sticky and she hopes she's bruising and she's going to have rug burn all up and down her back and every second was perfect.

"Thanks," she says.

He looks up, and for a moment she thinks he's going to dredge up enough energy to make a quip about the service. But he only says "Yeah, you too," and kisses her. He tries to make it gentle. He's forgotten who he's dealing with.


End file.
